


In Exchange

by coveredbyroses



Series: 2019 SPN Kink Bingo [18]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Arranged Marriage, F/M, Smut, Tumblr: spnkinkbingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:27:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21860698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coveredbyroses/pseuds/coveredbyroses
Summary: She doesn’t know much about her husband, but she knows enough.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/You
Series: 2019 SPN Kink Bingo [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1257542
Comments: 1
Kudos: 25





	In Exchange

The ceremony was brief. A little church tucked into a little town just outside of Nashville. She doesn’t know much about him, her - husband? Such an alien thought. She knows his name; Dean Campbell. She knows he’s some kind of hunter - though not the kind who shoots deer and rabbit - and she knows he’s no more keen to this marriage than she is.

Her stepmother had arranged the union in exchange for some ancient, gnarly-looking blade. She realized, on that day, just how little she knew her father’s second wife as well.

Her husband (so strange the thought) is _very_ handsome. Moss green eyes and full, perfect lips. He’s tall, but not enormous, has this grit-deep voice that teeters somewhere between silk and stone.

They don’t say much on the ride to the hotel. He gives her a little background, and she struggles to grasp the thought of actual monsters; of vampires and werewolves and witches - it’s too much, and he falls back into silence after drinking in her own.

He checks her in with a credit card, helps her with her bags (her sole belongings now), then turns heel to leave with the promise to annul. She doesn’t know why she stops him, looks down perplexedly at her own fingers as they curl into the red and black checkers of his flannel. He’s as shocked as she is when she kisses him (voluntarily even) for the second time that day.

The only thing she’s aware of at this moment is how good he feels pumping into her; the decadent, hot weight of him as he bows and thrusts and curls. Her heels press into the small of his back, her hands splayed, fingers dimpling into the firm flesh of his broad shoulders. He breathes hungry and damp and hot into the soft of her neck as he fucks into her, and she gasps and groans her own pleasure into the golden quiet.

She should be angry, should be seething at all of it. She’s had a long time to hate her stepmother (and she does for a million irrelevant reasons) but she can’t now. She’s been given a gift - even if it only lasts for a few exquisite hours.

She dumbly thanks him after she stops shaking, after his fingers have stopped skating over her clit. She thanks him again after he comes inside her, the sticky heat of him still dripping thick onto the sheets underneath.

They say their goodbyes early into the next morning - but not after she’s awoken him with the wet warmth of her mouth, not after he’s sucked out three more orgasms from her tender, sleepy cunt.

She doesn’t know much about her husband, but she knows enough to keep him etched into her mind until the hellhounds come.


End file.
